


Practice Makes Perfect

by forestofmyown



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood and Injury, Dancing, Dating, Eating, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Food, Friends to Lovers, Gay, Gay Male Character, Good Slytherins, Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Nursing, POV First Person, Romance, Shakespearean Sonnets, Slytherin, Teenagers, Violence, War, transfer student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29484903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestofmyown/pseuds/forestofmyown
Summary: Luke Graves meets Dominic Williams during the Battle of Hogwarts, and they are afterward inseparable.  So much so that the two best friends decide to practice at dating by competing to see which of the two can better romance the other.Problem is, Luke is actually in love with Dom, and isn't sure if this is the best idea he's ever had, or actual torture.
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	Practice Makes Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> This story has sat on my hard drive for literal years. It was written in complete self-indulgence, and I debated for forever about whether I would post it or not. I don't normally post anything that's not a reader insert here. But considering I haven't written anything in SO LONG, I decided to throw it up while I get back in the groove of things. I hope it's worth somebody's time.
> 
> For the record, Dom's looks are based on a young Tom Hiddleston. 
> 
> Unbeta-ed, as usual. Written pre-Fantastic Beasts, so Luke's name is a complete coincidence. Also, fuck JK.

My breathing is more like sobs. I'm fairly certain I've gone into shock, because nothing hurts, and I know it should. I watch, eyes wide, straining, as more spells tear through the ceiling, reducing the woodwork to splinters and the stonework to pebbles that rain down like bullets and daggers and shoot, one after another, into my gut, piercing blow after piercing blow. Tiny fountains of blood squirt up at each entry, red streaks that are moving too slowly, this can't be real, isn't real—  
  
My body shakes with every hit. One two three four—now the fire has moved sideways, is missing me, is moving away, but the tiny rockets that shot like bullets are still in me, that's bad, something about infections, I know I know this, can't think, there's so much screaming—  
  
I can barely balance, my head and shoulders leaning over the edge of the broken flooring, hovering two stories above the floor below. So much screaming, so much spellwork, so much smoke. But my wand is still clutched in my hand, arm extended out above the chasm, slippery with blood but I know my life depends on this and so many others are fighting I have to help I'm pressing it so hard between my fingers I'm half certain it will break.  
  
Raising my arm, I flinch and cry out, not out of pain, but frustration and exertion. It's so hard to move, to do anything. But I have to move, have to do this. I have to get up, have to fight.  
  
Something explodes in the building. So much crying, so much screaming, so much smoke.  
  
The sudden lack of the sound of battle is almost deafening. They've stopped. Thank the heavens, they've stopped. Half laughing, half sobbing, I stare up at the sky and chant:  
  
“Thank you, thank you, thank you—”  
  
My wand slips through the blood on my hands and falls. I reach after it, but it's long gone. I let myself fall back, still half off the missing section of floor, leaning out over the chaos and ruin. But, hopefully, it's over—there are still rocks in my stomach. And that's bad. I can't remember why, but it's bad.  
  
I have to get the pebbles out, I tell myself, and lean my head forward, pressing my chin to my chest so I can see, and reach my hands up to my robe. They take hold of it, tearing it without trying because they are shaking so bad. But that's what I wanted, so it doesn't matter. I can see the holes, close together and red, bubbling with blood, making a zigzagging line across my right side.  
  
I dig my fingers in, tearing the skin further. Am I making it worse? I don't know. Got to get the rocks out. Invading, inside me, wrong, got to get them.  
  
I pull on something thick and round, like a spongy tube. Both ends are still in me, but there's a hole in this section, and I tug it forward enough to see, digging my fingers in and swishing them around, searching. Something rough and circular rubs against my fingertip, and I press it against the inside of the tube, rolling it roughly along the flesh until it pops out. One.  
  
Feeling accomplished, I laugh, and some of the tears in my eyes mix with the blood on my face, making it hard to see. It stings a little. I feel sick.  
  
More stones. Keep looking. I push that section of the tube back inside me and run my fingers along it, looking for more holes. When I find one, I try to dig while it's still inside me, but it's hard to go by feel. I get two more rocks out before I have to pull a particularly stubborn section out the little tear in my abdomen and press that bit of the tube together, forcing the stone out due to lack of room. It scratches and cuts on the way out.  
  
I keep feeling around, but I can't find any more after that. Did I get them all? I doubt it. Wasn't there one in my arm? I was hit earlier, before this. Can't think. I should be feeling pain, this should hurt so much, that can't be good, can't be good.  
  
I press the bit of still visible tube back down in the little tear. Blood bubbles around it, then drips down my side. I press the hand I think is injured to the holes, trying to stop the bubbling. Everything is slippery.  
  
I feel around my shoulder with my free hand, down my arm, and find another wound to dig a long strip of wood out of. By now, my vision is starting to fuzz around the edges. I think I can feel a bit of pain starting again. I want to throw up.  
  
I also have the unsteadying feeling that I'm going to fall off this ledge if I don't move. Moving is so hard, though. I can hear the floor creaking beneath me.  
  
I'm going to die. The realization is startling, and I laugh again, tears spilling out frantically. I've saved others, though. Everyone I could. Fought bravely. No more curses. No one's attacking anymore. That's good. That's good.  
  
I really don't want to die, though. I really, really don't.  
  
Lying there, sobbing, I watch the black and white fuzz creep in around the edges of my vision, until it devours everything, and I stare at black, still hearing the crying all around me.  
  
I don't want to die.

* * *

  
  
  
  
I wake up. This it seems quite a feat to me, as I hadn't expected to ever wake up again at all. Unless there is a state of consciousness after death, of which I have no idea what to expect. But I can hear stifled crying and coughing around me, and the clink of metal and the scuffing of shoes, movement all about me, and I don't think I'm dead. I have no guarantee of that, of course, but I don't think so.  
  
I snort, smiling, and the movement in my chest hurts. I arch my back involuntarily against it, and it gets worse. In fact, everything gets worse, and there is suddenly pain all over, and I'm sore and aching and nauseous and stiff and have no idea how to lay back down and now feel like I'm stuck in my new arched position, and it's all so funny and painful and hilarious because I'm alive and in pain and I wish it would stop but I'm alive—  
  
“Whoa now, hey, lay back down, come one now, relax—” There are hands on my shoulders, gentle but pressing, and my body folds back onto the mattress at the insistence of the touch. I swallow, gasping, and it isn't a moment later that a straw is in my mouth, and I'm drinking quickly, it's so good, cold and wet and perfect, gah, some kind of potion.  
  
I've drunk too much too quickly, and choke a bit, coughing, and the straw is taken away. A wet washrag is placed on my forehead, and that feels good as I settle back down.  
  
“Sleep,” the soothing voice tells me. “Rest. You'll be better soon.”  
  
I pry my eyes open, feeling the pain and awareness booth fading, and watch as my caretaker does a double-take between me and the other patients scattered around the overly cluttered infirmary. I am reminded of all those ridiculous depictions of angels, rosy-cheeked blond cherubs, as my eyes flutter back shut and I fall asleep.

* * *

  
  
  
  
Magic is a wondrous thing, magical healing much more so. Because when I wake up, the pain has dulled considerably, and I don't waste any time in sitting up and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, testing myself and my movements. A roll of my shoulders, a quick stretch backward, shows me where my pain still lingers, but for the most part, I feel back up to snuff.  
  
I'm honestly surprised I hadn't bled to death. I wonder, vaguely, who found me and got me help in time.  
  
The hospital wing is less crowded now than it was when I last woke, which tells me some time must have passed. But it is still overfilled, with many, many additional beds filled with the injured. Healers and mediwixen navigate the maze of patients, checking on them, and I notice that even some of the older students are up and about, administering potions and changing bandages to help out.  
  
Carefully, I stand, then bite my lip. Not completely healed, as I thought. Pain runs up my back, down my legs, through my arms, and even throbs in my head. But the place that hurts the worst is my gut. I have no shirt or robes, dressed only in hospital-issued trousers and wrapped in bandages myself. I touch my side and stomach gingerly, feeling the give of soft skin beneath and yet another surge of pain.  
  
Hissing lightly, I stop. But I don't sit back down. There aren't any holes in my gut anymore that I can feel, and that's healed enough to help out, in my opinion. No stitches to tear when magic's what puts you back together.  
  
Shuffling carefully, I make my way between the beds, taking in the various injuries and degree of necessary medical attention. Stopping periodically, I make obvious assists, careful not to disturb anything that looks out of my league.  
  
“Ah, you!” I turn at the voice, barely above a whisper, and watch as the mop of curly blond hair I remember from earlier comes bobbing towards me, twirling clumsily around the obstacles between us.  
  
He's older, dressed in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and black trousers. There are pink stains here and there on the white. He's tall, bronze and covered in freckles, and lean, with startling blue eyes as cliché as sapphires, a rather large forehead, a long nose, sharp cheekbones, and a sloping but angular jaw.  
  
He also looks very flustered.  
  
“You shouldn't be up,” he says with obvious worry as he finally comes up beside me, reaching out and taking hold of my hand with two fingers very lightly. He doesn't even seem aware he's done it. “You're still injured.”  
  
I glance down at the patient in the bed before me; a child, certainly a few years younger than I, in a fit of sweats and missing her arm and part of her shoulder. Looking back to the assistant healer, whoever he is, I lock my gaze on his and say, “I'm healed enough. These kids need help, and I can do that.”  
  
He glances between the bed and me, biting the inside of his cheek. “You really shouldn't be up.”  
  
“I won't lie. I'm still in a bit of pain,” I admit. “But it's manageable. I'll lie back down if it gets worse, you have my word. But until then, I can help.”  
  
His eyes shift between my own. “Are you trained?”  
  
“In the basics—it was required at my previous school.”  
  
It seems to suddenly click with him that I'm that 'odd transfer student' he's probably heard rumors about. I worry for a moment that that will bias him, and he'll send me back to bed, but instead he nods, his fingers slipping away from my hand.  
  
“Alright, consult me if you have questions. Stick with injuries you're familiar with.”  
  
“I will.”  
  
He seems reassured, and watches me for a lingering moment as he steps back, then turns away. I do the same.

* * *

  
  
  
  
When the number of patients begin to dwindle—whether through healing or otherwise—the Healers dismiss many of the assisting students, and pair up the more skilled leftovers to keep watches. The golden-haired cherub asks for me specifically, as he had apparently been in charge of my care and I'm still technically on the mend, and the Healers agree without fuss, as they have more important issues to deal with.  
  
We work together well, though, both focused on the job—me being added to his load as part of the job to keep an eye on, though—and of few words while we go about our work. I find I don't mind the company or the sneaking, evaluative looks; my companion is very easy on the eyes and unobtrusive, so all in all, the attention is welcome enough. And when it's time for the both of us to end our shift and get some rest, we agree without words to settle down against a wall out of the way and sleep there, ready to be woken to assist as needed at any time. Over the next few hours, that does, in fact, happen, and we jump to the ready just as silently.  
  
My companion is professional in his ministrations, compassionate and patient with the conscious and unconscious alike, and on the verge of tears over more than once as we lose those we can't help. It never stops him, and he never fails to ask how I'm handling the losses, as well.  
  
It isn't easy on either of us. I swallow hard, blink back tears, and get back to work as quickly as I can. It barely helps that these people are practically strangers to me. Death and war injuries on children is enough to give anyone nightmares for the rest of their days, and it certainly does me.  
  
I was passed a white tee shirt earlier on, and it's just a pink as my partner's soon enough. And when our next break comes, I bury my head between my knees, back against the wall, and stare at the floor, unseeing, until sleep takes me. My companion leans back, one knee up and the other leg stretched out, and he seems to have found a spot on the far wall to concentrate on. Neither of us comments on our actions when we wake again and get back to work.  
  
I am the one who remembers to fetch a bit of food and water for the two of us, and he is the one who turns up at odds times with a potion for me, almost always when the pain is starting to get too great to walk. I never need to tell him it hurts.  
  
By the time the wing is almost cleared and all the student assistants are sent back to their dorms, I having long been deemed dis-chargeable and just refusing to leave, it's been almost a week since the attack had taken place, and a bulletin on the board outside informs us classes and end of year exams are canceled. Many students have already gone home, despite two months to go before we officially let out. But as it stands, Hogwarts is closed.  
  
I haven't heard from my family, but that's not surprising. I wonder if they even know about the attack, as they most likely aren't in the country at the moment. I need to write them a letter and inform them of what's happened; I should have done that already. I sigh, backing away from the bulletin board, and the other boy lingers a moment before turning to me.  
  
Without a word, we start walking together. We head to the bathrooms first and proceed to wash off, stripping out of our strained shirts and putting on the clean ones we'd been given before leaving. Then we proceed to the ground floor and the Great Hall, where we pause.  
  
He smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his hand. “Hufflepuff.”  
  
We'll be going to opposite ends of the castle, then, and I can tell he already knows it. Everyone knows what house the transfer student is in.  
  
I give a small smile back and reply anyway. “Slytherin.”  
  
He holds out his hand. “Dom. Dominic Williams. Fifth year.”  
  
I stare at him, and he stares back, and we both begin to grin, and then laugh. Almost a week we've spent practically always together in that infirmary, and we never introduced ourselves.  
  
“Luke Graves, Fourth.” I take his hand and squeeze, and he squeezes back, gives it one shake, and lets go.  
  
“Well, it's been a pleasure working with you, Luke,” Dom says, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Let me know if you have any more problems with your injuries, alright?”  
  
“Sure thing—” I pause, uncertain. He used my first name. Should I use his? Seems a bit too informal for my tastes, but after the time we've spent together ... “Dom.”  
  
That seems like the right answer, as his smile broadens. “See you tomorrow, then.”  
  
Tomorrow? Really? But he doesn't appear to notice my confusion and simply waves with one hand as he walks away, towards the kitchens, where rumor has it the Hufflepuff dormitory is located. I nod before he turns away, my head still reeling a bit.  
  
See you tomorrow. He said it with such assurance.  
  
We go to the same school, we might run into each other or see each other in the halls, sure, but he sounded so ... friendly. Like we were going to hang out.  
  
Maybe he was just being polite. He's a Hufflepuff, after all. But it didn't seem like just decorum. He looked honestly pleased with making my acquaintance. Have I made a friend?  
  
I have friends, of course. My fellow Slytherins, obviously, the occasional curious Ravenclaw, other friendly Hufflepuffs, a few determined Gryffindors. But I use the term “friend” lightly. We have conversations. We get along. We sometimes pair up in class or study together. I don't hate them. A one or two, I actually like.  
  
But no one I actively seek out, or who seeks out me. I spend most of my free time by myself. It's been a long year, with me being the first transfer student many had ever heard of at Hogwarts and causing an uproar, plus being sorted into the tight-knit and badly thought of Slytherin. It isn't particularly lonely, but it is different from the sense of community and family I had felt while with The School of One Thousand Names. I had been with my tribe then. Here, I am out of my element, and there are times it shows, and painfully so.  
  
I head down the stairs into the dungeons while I contemplate this. Would this Dom Williams make a good friend for me? I had always assumed I would eventually attract some other Slytherin to be a comrade to me, eventually. Friendships take time, my parents had assured me with no provocation after receiving my regular updates via owl. I suppose I'll see where it goes.  
  
He's certainly good looking. I wouldn't mind having him around, just for that. He didn't seem to be prone to annoying chatter, either, which was a rather big plus. We'd come through this week together, maybe we'd continue on together after. It would mean at least one good thing came out of this ... slaughter.  
  
I swallow hard, grim. My face falls, and I force myself to keep thinking of the hot Hufflepuff as I make my way to the dorms, and not anything else that had happened this week. None of it.

* * *

  
  
  
  
That's how I met my best friend, in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts.

* * *

  
  
  
  
The next day, Dom greets me at breakfast. With most of the castle abandoned—Slytherin house most especially—I don't think much of it when he sits next to me at the Slytherin table. It isn't much of a statement when there are so few to see it.  
  
When he comes back the next year after a summer of casual letter exchanges, however, his sitting next to me at the Slytherin table has a much profounder impact. Several people are up in arms over it, in fact, and most are just as scandalized. Anti-Slytherin sentiment is at an all-time high after last year, with most even denying any Slytherins stayed to fight in the battle at all (which is, of course, ridiculous). I assume Dom knows this, and his statement is more towards unity and reconciliation, Hufflepuff that he is, rather than any great declaration of devotion to our newfound friendship.  
  
Dom is no fool, I learn quickly enough. He is as sharp and clever at times as any in my own house, and he is aware that his actions, especially as a prefect, are watched and judged. He plays ignorant, though, and smiles all the time, pleasant and cheerful and always ready to say a good word or help out those in need, sometimes to his own inconvenience. As he is easily used, I gain a fast reputation as Dom's guard dog, prepared to use biting sarcasm and subtly cruel comments to bring those who would abuse his good nature to their knees.  
  
The two of us switching between our house tables becomes a common enough sight, and though we have no classes together, we usually find ways to walk together between lessons for at least a little while. A tree by the lake, not far from the Forbidden Forest, becomes our spot, and we spend most of our time before dark there, typically surrounded by books. No one wants to go that near the forest, and we're thankfully left alone when we're there.  
  
The rest of the time we aren't so lucky. Dom gets pestered by well-meaning students, certain I am a bad influence or, more likely, abusing him in secret. I, on the other hand, am subjected to obscenities, hallway hexes, and other such instances of bullying—only when Dom is not in sight, of course.  
  
Most of my fellow Slytherins think I'm up to something, just like the rest of the school, and applaud my audacity and the simple fact that everyone seems to hate me now as though that's something to be proud of. But, at least, I am welcomed there and not harassed—with the exception of a few hard-nosed busybodies who think my consorting with a Hufflepuff is some sort of house treason. They are a minority.  
  
I find the bullying annoying on the best of days, twisted forms of social torture on the worst, but never bad enough to end my friendship with my golden cherub. Dom can probably be personified in the word “casual.” He is easy to talk to, and also easy to not, silence never being heavy or awkward with him around. He almost always smiles, but his demeanor is not overbearing, and his most thoughtful moments almost always revolve around someone else's problems or a piece of literature. He's agreeable, not pushy, and insufferably perfect at times, and I struggle over the year to find fault with him.  
  
My resulting list is a short and picky one: he never talks about his own problems, nor will he vocalize when something's wrong, which can lead to going several days not realizing I've offended him; he's incredibly elegant on the ground, a great dancer, yet has next to no balance in the air, and a great fear of heights—so much so that teasing him about it resulted in one of the only times he's ever yelled at me, and thus I have not mentioned it since; his grades are good, but he has no drive to improve them even though I know he can do better, which infuriates me at times; he's extremely wishy-washy and easily used, as I've noted before, and rarely stands up for himself but always assumes the best of others, so much so he misses when people are having emotional trouble despite having a great eye for physical pain; and, lastly, he never asks for what he wants, and then is disappointed when he doesn't get it, as though I am a mind reader.  
  
I try to remind myself of these things to curb my interest in the older boy, but fail rather miserably, and so, by the time his seventh year rolls around (my sixth), I have resigned myself to being helplessly in love with him and don't even really think about it all that much. It is simply a secret fact of my life, tucked away like a noteworthy tidbit of my childhood that I'll look back on fondly someday, and my friendship continues unhindered, though the dread of his graduation does creep up on me rather early in the school year.  
  
It's something I brood about in my free time, when Dom isn't around, like in class; it's this exact thing I do today during a particularly boring Transfiguration lesson, after which, I sling my bag over my shoulder and head out into the hall, searching instinctively for my friend.  
  
He isn't at our usual meeting place. I pause there, rather stunned, and look around. Is he running late? What would keep him? Did the teacher need him after class?  
  
He had Defense last period. I make my way towards that classroom.  
  
Rounding the last corner, I stop short. He's a few feet from the door, locked in conversation with a pretty girl. She's got her hands behind her back, a confused smile on her face, and he's bent over slightly (his usual, terrible posture), hands on his hips, biting his bottom lip.  
  
I approach slowly, unsure of the atmosphere, and she glances at me. Dom follows her eyes, and his shoulders relax visibly as he sees me, his face lighting up into a smile.  
  
“Sorry, so sorry, I've got to go,” he tells the girl, skipping sideways towards me. “Sorry.”  
  
She raises both her eyebrows and smiles ruefully, waving, as Dom grabs my hand and begins to pull me away. I take the hint and walk quickly, not speaking until we've left her in our dust.  
  
Then I ask, “So, what was that about?”  
  
“Um, well, she—that is ... ah ... ” he stutters for a minute, bites his lip again, then sighs.  
  
I smirk. “I've seen that face before. She ask you out?”  
  
“Yes.” He admits sheepishly, frowning.  
  
“You have any idea who she is this time?”  
  
He glances at me, obviously not impressed at the reminder of the last confession fiasco by a girl who liked him. “Yes. She's actually in my year. A Ravenclaw. You might recognize her as being Head Girl.”  
  
My brows rise. “Huh. I guess she did look vaguely familiar.”  
  
“I can't believe you didn't recognize her. We talk all the time. We're in charge of the other Prefects together and have to organize all student-run activities. She's probably the person I spend the most time with outside of you.”  
  
I smirk again, feeling my sharp canine stick out above my lip. “Dom, I'm not sure if you've noticed this, but I'm a Slytherin. And, as such, there are very few things in this world that are worth remembering outside myself and my goals.”  
  
Dom rolls his eyes and nudges me with his elbow. “Stop that. You're being terrible. You know that's not true. You pay attention to me all the time.”  
  
“Oh, Dom. You're mine, that's why. Another thing you haven't seemed to notice.”  
  
He chuckles. “I am not.”  
  
“You're my best friend.” I point out.  
  
“You say that like it proves your point, when instead it proves mine. You're always thinking about other people. All that Slytherin ambition, and you completely direct it at helping other people be successful, and never yourself.”  
  
“Ridiculous.” I huff. “I'm plenty successful myself. I'm a Prefect, after all, and a Chaser on the Slytherin Quidditch team. Not to mention—a straight O NEWT student.”  
  
“But not Quidditch Captain, because you helped encourage Jubal to consider Esha over you last year. And not in the running for Head Boy next year if your popularity amongst the Gryffindors is any indication—all because, and I quote you on this, 'Leone has great potential; he just needs a rival to keep him motivated.'”  
  
“Hey, Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalries are a Hogwarts tradition.”  
  
Dom grins at me. “Now who's being ridiculous?”  
  
“We're getting off subject. How did the Head Girl take being rejected?”  
  
“How do you know I rejected her?”  
  
“Because you've rejected every single person who's ever asked you out. You're too shy.”  
  
His brows pull together as he scoffs. “I'm not shy.”  
  
“You are.” I insist.  
  
“I just think that ... I don't know, I'm never ready when someone just—just comes up and asks me out.”  
  
We've made our way up the stairs to the library, settling at our usual table in the front corner, very near Madame Pince and thus guaranteed to have no nearby company. But being so close to the librarian means we are forced to be almost absolutely silent, and switch to low whispers.  
  
“So you just say no?” I snicker lightly. Bless this boy and the fact that he's never dated, meaning I've never had to suffer through that jealousy.  
  
“I always thought ... ” Dom rubs the back of his neck. “I'd just ... fall in love. With a friend, or someone I already knew, and it would be completely natural.”  
  
I smile. “You're a hopeless romantic, then. How Hufflepuff of you.”  
  
“Shut up.” He nudges me again and sighs. “Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm not being realistic. It's my senior year ... maybe I should lighten up and just—give dating a try.”  
  
That was not what I was saying at all. By Merlin, how do I fix this?  
  
“But I have no idea what I'm doing!” Dom continues, both hands now rubbing his hair in frustration. “I have no experience with dating.”  
  
“Well ... ” I hate seeing him this worked up. “Maybe we should try starting with something very basic. What are you interested in in a date? Girls, guys, neither, either, older, younger, blondes, brunettes, fellow Puffs, Snakes or Birds or Gryffs? Anything?”  
  
He opens his mouth and after several seconds just shakes his head. “I don't know. I've never really thought about it. What—what about you, Luke? You've never dated, either, as far as I know.”  
  
“No, I haven't.” I reply with a shrug. “I've always preferred guys, though, ever since I can remember.”  
  
“Really?” He looks rather shocked, and I frown. “Sorry—I don't mean that in any bad way. It's just ... you come across, well, frankly you act womanizing at times. When you want something from someone. You're a downright flirt.”  
  
“Yes, I am. But me being a flirt isn't limited by gender, or just getting what I want. I like flirting. It's fun. And there's always something about everyone, isn't there? People are like art.”  
  
“But you're only interested in dating men?”  
  
“I've only ever had things for people who were men. I'd be open to anything, I think, but I prefer men in a strictly physical attraction sense.”  
  
“But you've never dated? I know you've had a few fellas ask you out over the past two years—though you get far more attention from girls. Why'd you say no to the guys?”  
  
“I wasn't interested in them.”  
  
“But you've been interested in others?”  
  
I cock my brows in vague agreement.  
  
“You don't want to talk about this.”  
  
My eyes flick to Dom and I roll them, seeing his apologetic expression. “I've had people I was attracted to, but no one I was interested in dating until I got to Hogwarts. And after that I wasn't going to date anyone else.”  
  
“You have someone you like?” He's shocked again, and I want to smack him over the head.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Why haven't you done anything about it?”  
  
I run my fingers through my bangs, pushing them back, and cringe.  
  
Dom backs off again. “Sorry. That was very personal. Sorry.”  
  
“Maybe I'm just having the same problems that you are,” I finally say, trying to lighten the mood.  
  
“Being a hopeless romantic? That's not very Slytherin of you.” He teases, smiling.  
  
I narrow my eyes at him, but smile right back. “I'll have you know I'm very romantic. I'd be a devoted lover.”  
  
“Maybe in theory. But how do you know? I'd like to think the same about myself, but neither of us has any real experience to base that on.”  
  
“Maybe we both just need some experience, then.” I grin, suddenly stricken by the most brilliant idea I've ever come up with. “Let's go on a date.”  
  
“What?” Dom stares at me.  
  
Madame Pince “ahems,” and I look over to her desk, where she points to the clock.  
  
“Break's over.” I stand, motioning to Dom, and he shuffles awkwardly, gathering his shoulder bag and following me out. His next class is History of Magic, which is right beside the library, while mine's Charms, a floor down, so we simply head into the classroom and I loiter beside his desk while he settles in.  
  
“This Saturday,” I tell him. “Make your plans, I'll make mine, and we'll just see who's a romantic date. If it goes terrible, then we didn't mess up a date with someone we're actually dating, and we learn from it. Experience. It's perfect.”  
  
Dom frowns, looking worried. “I don't know about this, Luke.”  
  
I lean against his desk and raise my brows. “Who else would you trust for practice dating?”  
  
“Is dating really something we should practice?”  
  
“How else are we going to get experience without actually dating and potentially messing up the real thing? Besides, it's us. Worst thing to happen is we have an awkward day, laugh about it, and both continue to refuse to date.”  
  
Dom continues to look skeptical, almost whining before he says, “What if it gets so awkward we mess up our friendship?”  
  
I frown. “Not gonna happen. It's us. I trust you. You don't trust me?”  
  
“Of course I do,” Dom says sincerely, looking apologetic again.  
  
I roll my eyes. “I shouldn't have asked—you'd agree just out of guilt. Look, if you don't want to, that's fine. I just thought it was a good idea. Think about it and let me know, alright? Either way's cool. No worries. Got it?”  
  
Dom nods, so I repeat more sternly, “Got it?”  
  
“Yes, yes.” He lets out a deep breath and smiles at me. “I got it, Luke.”  
  
“Good. So don't stress about it. I'm not asking you on a real date, after all.”  
  
He chuckles. “Alright.”  
  
“Alright. See you after class.” I slap him on the shoulder and we smile to each other before I take off, dodging through the flow of students as I head down the stairs to the Charms corridor. As I take my seat, I let out my own held breath, heart pounding.  
  
I just asked Dom on a date. It doesn't even matter that it's not a real date and he still has no idea I like him. I feel like I could throw up. It wasn't nearly so nerve-wracking while I was doing it. Why am I panicking now? Ulg.  
  
I lean forward and press my forehead to my desk. I'm never going to be able to concentrate on class.  
  
But I try, and get through it without any trouble. Afterward, I take my time packing up so that Dom meets me just outside the room, and we head down to the Great Hall for lunch. Dom turns towards the Slytherin table, but I redirect him to the Hufflepuff, and we take our usual spots with his friends.  
  
The rest of the day passes quickly, and without any mention of my proposal till after dinner, when Dom and I have settled by our tree. We've both pulled out our homework and have been working almost nonstop, until it's already getting dark and we ditch our books to lean against the trunk, resting our eyes.  
  
“It's going to be a long year.” Dom moans.  
  
I pry an eye open to peer at him. He looks tired already. NEWTs, graduation, career prospects, Prefect and Head Boy duties are going to run him dry. It's not the first time in these first few weeks he's looked like he's about to fall asleep on the grass.  
  
I nudge him with my shoulder. “Whether you accept my date or not, I'm going to spoil you this weekend. You deserve it.”  
  
His lips curl into a small smile. “You have your own tests and responsibilities to worry about, Luke.”  
  
“And I have a whole nother year to worry about them. You, on the other hand, are on your last leg and I fully intend to support you during this.”  
  
His smile slips. “How am I supposed to return the favor? I'll be gone next year ... ”  
  
“So?” I stretch out my legs, pressing my shoulders into the tree trunk to arch my back. “We'll still see each other over the holidays, won't we? Not to mention letters. And it's only one year. Then I'll be able to pester you again whenever I please.”  
  
He laughs, his chest shaking with humor. “Is that so?”  
  
“Of course.” I grin right back.  
  
“We aren't even going into the same fields. Are you just planning to follow me wherever I go?”  
  
“Basically.”  
  
“Well, I should probably just plan for you to be moving into my flat after graduation then, shouldn't I?”  
  
“You hadn't already?”  
  
Dom presses his hand to his face to cover up what is rapidly becoming giggles. I'm smiling ear to ear, watching him.  
  
“If you want a flatmate, I'm there.” I emphasize, trying to be serious. “But if you don't, it won't hurt my feelings. Say so.”  
  
“Oh, I haven't thought that far ahead yet.” Dom replies, waving it all away. “But there is absolutely no reason I wouldn't want you for a flatmate. I'll keep you in mind when I actually do start looking.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Positive. I can hardly imagine my future without you.”  
  
He says it so matter of factly. I let my head fall back against the tree again, heart pounding.  
  
“Oh yes, I'm definitely going to spoil you this weekend. Not even just Saturday—the whole weekend.”  
  
Dom laughs again. “You're just trying to out-do me for our date, aren't you?”  
  
I look away nonchalantly. “Oh, are we going on a date then?”  
  
“If I make a complete fool of myself, I'm never going to forgive you.”  
  
“Now, that's just unfair. What if I make a fool of myself, as well?”  
  
“Please. You're always so ... composed. It's that Slytherin deviousness about you, you always look like you know exactly what you're doing; you couldn't make a fool of yourself if you tried. I, on the other hand, light up like a tomato—I'm doing it right now, I can tell! Look at this—” He sits up, pointing to his flushing face, and I double over laughing, him joining me moments later.  
  
“You'll do fine.” I finally manage to assure him. “It's us we're talking about. We know what we both like. We hang out all the time. Just imagine you're treating me for my birthday or something. Have fun, Dom.”  
  
He stares at me for a moment, still half smiling. “You're sure this isn't a competition, then?”  
  
I grin. “Well ... ”  
  
“I knew it!” He smacks me on the arm, looking playfully outraged as I flinch away, still smirking. “Everything is always a competition with you.”  
  
“Slytherin.” I shoot back.  
  
“Yes, well, I'm a Hufflepuff.” He wags a finger at me. “So prepare for the most sappy, disgustingly sweet date you've ever seen.”  
  
“Ulg.” I stick out my tongue in mock disgust. “How vile. I'll die. You will literally kill me. My evil heart can't take it.”  
  
“You'll like it.” It sounds like an order, and he can't keep the grin off his face. “You'll hate yourself, you'll like it so much. You wait.”  
  
I move my face closer to his and sneer. “Bring it, loverboy.”

* * *

  
  
  
  
And so the week passes with us shooting jibes at each other whenever we're alone, planning our surprises for the other in secret. When Saturday morning dawns, I wake grinning and practically dart upstairs and across the castle to the Entrance Hall, where I pop my head into the Great Hall to make sure Dom hadn't already arrived, and then head down the stairs to the kitchens corridor, haunting the only exit as Hufflepuffs begins to appear from farther down and wander curiously past me, looking confused (and some a bit frightened).  
  
Eventually, Dom wanders up, still looking half asleep, and appears startled when he finally notices me. I grin at him.  
  
“You didn't forget, did you?”  
  
“No.” He scowls, rubbing his head with a big yawn. Dom's not a morning person. “I just hadn't expected anything so early. Are you planning to kidnap before I even have breakfast?”  
  
“Why yes, yes I am. You should have known when I said I wanted the morning and you get the evening that I would make use of every second.”  
  
He squints at me. “I'll have you know my dream date certainly does not begin this early in the morning.”  
  
“Give it a chance.” I reply easily, slipping an arm around his waist and gently easing him forward. He peers down at me, eyes growing sharper and face flushing slightly. “Do you really think I'll mess this up? I know you.”  
  
“You keep saying that.”  
  
“Because it's true.”  
  
“Technically, we've only known each other two years.”  
  
I don't even look at him when I smirk, concentrating on leading him up the stairs and out of the Great Hall, onto the grounds. “And yet.”  
  
It's chilly, past Halloween and coming up on the true cold of Winter, and Dom immediately starts shivering, a hand going to his arm to rub it. I pull out my wand and cast a warming charm, and he spasms for a moment at the temperature change, then practically melts, smiling down at me. “Thanks.”  
  
I shake my head. “You'd think a pure-blood raised around magic would be quicker to think of magical solutions to his needs.”  
  
Dom shrugs sheepishly. “Sorry.”  
  
I roll my eyes, still smiling. It's no use telling Dom not to apologize for things all the time, it's just a quirk of his, and I've grown used to it. The best answer is always what I reply with now, “It's fine.”  
  
“Are we going to our tree?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Are we really skipping breakfast?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Will we be out here long?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Then how will we not miss breakfast?”  
  
“Dom.” I step in front of him, stopping, and he halts a tad too closely. He starts to back up, but I take his hand, threading my fingers through his and staring unblinkingly into his eyes. “Relax. Have fun. I told you I was going to spoil you today. Let me. I've got this.”  
  
He swallows roughly. I can see his Adam's apple bob. His face is flushed again, staring down into my eyes. He nods.  
  
I take a few steps back, not letting go of his hand, and turn, leading him on. We stop at our usual spot, and I spin lightly, bowing. “Since you're so concerned about it, we shall start with breakfast.”  
  
Whipping out my wand, I conjure up everything I had prepared for this: a thick, warm blanket of the traditional picnic sort—red and white checkered, because Dom is a sucker for tradition—and an assembly of wicker baskets filled to the brim with our meal.  
  
Dom's eyebrows shoot up, impressed, and I grin as he takes a seat and glances my way for permission before gingerly opening the nearest basket. He lets it fall closed immediately, doubling over with giggles. “Y-you charmed a wicker basket to hold baked beans?”  
  
“Correction; I charmed several wicker baskets to hold a great deal of breakfast foods. Observe.”  
  
I open up another basket and he peers in, then slaps a hand over his mouth to hold down a snort. “Scrambled eggs?”  
  
“The 'I'm-certain-these-are-unhealthy-and-undercooked-soupy'kind that you like so much and have to specially request of the House Elves.”  
  
“In a basket?”  
  
I nod. “In a basket.”  
  
Smiling with excitement, Dom starts opening others, revealing the spread of the morning: back bacon, grilled tomatoes, fried mushrooms, black pudding, and fried bread slices from a homemade loaf, as well as crispy buttered silver dollar pancakes (something I'd gotten him addicted to) and syrup (not in a basket, to his amusement), with fresh, warm breakfast tea (also not in a basket) to wash it all down.  
  
He starts making a plate, and I wait patiently until he's finished before gathering any myself, only to find he's waited for me, as well. When I'm all set, I feign preparing to take a bite and then set my food down to watch as Dom digs in.  
  
“Mmmmmm.” He closes his eyes while he chews, then stuffs another bite into his mouth. After swallowing, he says, “This is delicious. The House Elves have outdone themselves. It's a bit different from the usual, though. I can't quite put my finger on it ...”  
  
My ears heat up, and I chuckle. “That's because the House Elves didn't make it.”  
  
Dom stops picking at his food with the fork while chewing his new mouthful, halting that as well to stare up at me in shock. He rapidly begins chewing again, swallowing far too quickly, so he can exclaim, “You cooked this!? Yourself!?”  
  
I lean back, raising my chin proudly. “The muggle way. Been practicing with the House Elves all week to make sure I could get it all right. Was up half the early to make sure it would be warm and fresh this morning without any preservation spells.”  
  
“ ... I ... thank you, Luke.”  
  
Dom looks seriously touched, and the heat in my ears spreads down to my neck. I smile at him. “My pleasure, Dominic.”  
  
He flushes and looks down, eating more slowly. Grinning, I pick my plate back up and begin eating myself. In all honesty, it's not as good as the House Elves' cooking, I know that, but it's got my own special touch, with all the seasonings Dom likes, and I'm pleased with how it all turned out.  
  
As the meal stretches on and both Dom and I find ourselves completely stuffed, I start packing things back up and shooting glances towards the forest. No sign yet. I prepared for that, though, so no problem.  
  
Dom leans against the tree, closing his eyes and groaning slightly, then laughing. “Oh, I ate too much.”  
  
I chuckle with him, banishing the baskets, and then pull my school bag closer and open it, extracting a rather plain but thick book. As quietly as I can, I settle beside Dom, who continues to breathe deeply, half asleep again already. Opening the book to the marked page, I begin to read softly aloud.  
  
“A woman's face with nature's own hand-painted, hast thou, the master mistress of my passion.” Dom's eyes open and he turns to me. I do my best not to look at him as I continue, instead peering down at the page. “A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted with shifting change, as is false women's fashion. An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling, gilding the object whereupon it gazeth; A man in hue, all 'hues' in his controlling, which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.”  
  
I close my eyes, knowing this next part by heart. “And for a woman wert thou first created; Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting, and by addition me of thee defeated, by adding one thing to my purpose nothing. But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure, mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.”  
  
It takes a beat, then another, before Dom speaks. “That's one of Shakespeare's; The Fair Youth Sonnets.”  
  
“Sonnet twenty.” I don't say anything else for a few moments, knowing that Dom, the poetry enthusiast he is, is probably thinking about the meaning behind that sonnet, and hopefully how it applies to the situation at hand. When I look up at him, he's flushed again, and I know he's thinking exactly what I'd intended.  
  
“Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?” I begin again, suddenly, tone more upbeat and playful. “Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, and summer's lease hath all too short a date. Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, and often is his gold complexion dimm'd— ”  
  
I run a finger over Dom's curls, then quickly down his cheek before pulling away and snatching back up the poetry book to read from.  
  
“—and every fair from fair sometime declines, by chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd. But thy eternal summer shall not fade, nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st. Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, when in eternal lines to time thou grow'st. So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”  
  
He's looking anywhere but at me, giggling again; I've never met another guy who giggles quite as much as Dom does. “Oh, stop it.”  
  
He swats at me with a hand, toying, the both of us doing our best not to take a moment of this seriously, and I catch that swatting hand and hold it to my chest, starting another recital.  
  
“When I consider every thing that grows holds in perfection but a little moment, that this huge stage presenteth nought but shows whereon the stars in secret influence comment; When I perceive that men as plants increase, cheered and cheque'd even by the self-same sky, vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, and wear their brave state out of memory; Then the conceit of this inconstant stay sets you most rich in youth before my sight,” I glance at him then, and hold his gaze. “Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay, to change your day of youth to sullied night. And all in war with Time for love of you, as he takes from you, I engraft you new.”  
  
“I can't believe you are reciting me poetry.” Dom swallows hard, lightly pulling his hand away. I let it go, snapping the book closed. “You hate poetry.”  
  
“Correction: I hate wordy metaphors and symbolism I can hardly make sense of and get headaches trying to decipher. You, on the other hand, love poetry. And this morning is about you.” Holding out the book to him, I watch his eyes dart between me and the tome before he takes it.  
  
“Are ... ah, are you giving this to me?”  
  
“I hope you like it. And don't already have it.” I frown, shrugging. “I asked your roommates and wrote your Mum to try and make sure you didn't. It's mostly about Shakespeare from a muggle perspective, with none of the knowledge of why his lover had to be erased from muggle history and the stigma the youth faced among other purebloods for having an affair with such a public muggle figure.”  
  
“Muggles really don't know any of that?”  
  
“Nope. Don't even know his real name.”  
  
“Huh. I suppose I only ever studied Shakespeare from the wizarding standpoint and the scandal he caused. This sounds very interesting.”  
  
“I thought you'd have fun piecing what you already know together with the gaps in the muggle version.”  
  
“Fascinating.” Dom lets the book fall open and the pages flip past, skimming them as they go. When it closes, he smiles up at me, biting his lower lip. “Thank you, Luke. Again. You really are spoiling me today, and we've barely been out here, what, an hour?”  
  
I peer up at the sky, checking the sun's progression. “Hour and half, I think. But you're very welcome, Dom. And I'm not through yet.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
I look towards the forest again. Nothing. “I'm afraid it'll be a bit longer, though. Shall I read you some more poetry?”  
  
“No, that's alright. I'll read it myself. I'm willing to bet you practiced those beforehand, and the next ones you try won't go nearly as smoothly.”  
  
I snort. “You'd win that bet.”  
  
“I thought so.” Dom laughs.  
  
We both settle back against the tree again, and Dom opens up the book and starts flipping through to the poetry section. He starts with Sonnet One, predictably, and I lean over onto his shoulder before he's through with the page. His voice is amazing, soothing and fluid, deep and scratchy in all the right places without being too low.  
  
My copper-flecked choir angel. It makes me smile.  
  
He's warm, too. His chest vibrates as he speaks. By Merlin himself, this moment is so perfect. What could possibly make this better?  
  
Oh, that's a thought. Shifting, I gently raise Dom's hands up, and he pauses, watching, as I twist and lean down, laying my head in his lap. There. Seriously perfect.  
  
Dom only shakes his head and keeps reading.  
  
He's read through the first twenty, with me chuckling again at the three I'd already recited, by the time Hagrid's booming voice finally sounds in the distance.  
  
“Oi, Luke!”  
  
Dom starts, glancing around in confusion, and I grin, sitting up and grabbing his hand, pulling him up with me towards the forest.  
  
Hagrid's waiting by the tree line, holding a loose rope in one hand that leads into the dark underbrush. He shifts a little awkwardly as we approach, but manages a smile. “Hello there. Sorry I'm so late. Twasn't easy, even with a whole week to prepare and whatnot. But I did it, I did. Best go slowly and be gentle, you know how it is—you remember, we talked bout this?”  
  
“Yes Hagrid, I remember.” I smile reassuringly, patting him on the arm. “Thank you, sir. I really appreciate this.”  
  
Softening, Hagrid nods, looking over at Dom. “Well, you've always been a good student and right friendly, and I know Dom's the best sort, so ... well, off you go then, she's waiting, she is.”  
  
“She?” Dom searches the two of us, confused, and I just tug him forward, following the rope.  
  
She's standing back, head down, nibbling at the grass, tucked behind a few of the thicker trees. She's young, not a foal but not full-grown, with a glossy silver sheen and tight muscular legs, a short, thin horn twisting its way out of her forehead.  
  
“A unicorn ...” Dom gasps, standing stock-still in shock. “Wha—how did you know—”  
  
“That you were extremely disappointed when you didn't get to pet the unicorn in Care of Magical Creatures class?” The unicorn is beautiful, yes, but it's not her I'm staring at, watching. “Like I wouldn't find out. All your classmates noticed, you dork. So I asked Hagrid for help making that little disappointment go away.”  
  
“That's not ... it wasn't a big deal ...”  
  
“If seeing one up close makes you this speechless, it's a big deal, and this was worth it.”  
  
Dom tears his eyes away from the unicorn to look at me, a smile blossoming across his features, and I smile right back.  
  
“Come on, then. I believe you have a pony to pet.”  
  
He rolls his eyes, muttering, “It's not a pony,” but follows me slowly as I step towards the magical horse.  
  
She stops eating and stares at us, frozen in place, poised to run. I duck down and make myself go as limp as possible, assuming a non-threatening stance. Dom imitates me, and I hold out my hand, offering the treats Hagrid had given me beforehand. The unicorn approaches cautiously, sniffing the air, reaching her head and long neck forward until she can nip at the treats. Even slower, I bring the other hand up to caress her neck. I motion for Dom to join me, passing the treats to him. The unicorn follows the tiny cubes, still sniffing, as they switch hands.  
  
Dom looks mesmerized as he watches the unicorn nibble out of his hand, stroking her mane reverently. I back away, letting him enjoy the moment. Hagrid comes up beside me, not exactly quiet, but his presence doesn't seem to bother the unicorn and Dom wouldn't have noticed if elephants had begun stampeding through the forest, he's so enraptured.  
  
“Tha's a mighty kind thing you've done there, Luke,” Hagrid whispers in his rather loud way.  
  
“Thank you again, Hagrid, for helping.”  
  
“I suppose you aren't so bad, for a Slytherin.”  
  
“Hm.” His bias doesn't bother me much, but it's nice to hear I've changed his mind a bit. But that wasn't why I did this. “Dom told me recently that all my Slytherin ambition I direct towards others and don't leave any for myself. I'm not sure I agree, but he might be on the right track, at least. It's not like I'm not getting anything out of this, though. Look at him.”  
  
Dom jumps back, laughing, as the unicorn nips at his fingers, having run out of treats to eat, and I have to laugh at it myself.  
  
Suddenly Hagrid's large and rather powerful hand pats me on the back, practically knocking the breath right out of me. He doesn't seem to notice.  
  
“Yer a good kid, Luke.”  
  
“Er, thank you, Hagrid.”  
  
“Luke, Luke, come here!” Dom gestures me over, giddy. “I think it's sharing some magic. I feel tingles all over!”  
  
Shaking my head, I join him again.

* * *

  
  
  
  
We take lunch together in the great hall, unicorn back where it belongs and Hagrid sitting merrily up at the teachers' table, chatting away. Dom still looks starry-eyed, a small smile on his face as he eats, gaze unfocused. I take pride in that while I enjoy the food, keeping up casual conversations with my fellow snakes at the table.  
  
“What's wrong with Dom?” One of them asks after a while.  
  
“He's being awfully quiet.”  
  
“He looks drunk. Does he even drink?”  
  
I snort, shaking my head. “Nah, he's just had a really good morning. Don't mind him.”  
  
They all share glances, looking impressed. “Just how good of a morning did he have?”  
  
I roll my eyes, then lock a stare on my friends. “Leave it.”  
  
They shrug and go back to their own conversations, and by the time Dom snaps back to the real world, most of them have already cleared off.  
  
Patting him on the back, I nod towards the door. “Ready for your turn?”  
  
He tries to smile at me, but it's a pitiful attempt, and I feel my own face falling.  
  
“What's wrong?”  
  
“It's just ... this morning has been ... amazing, Luke, truly. And I ...” He grimaces, hands clenching together on the table. “Well, honestly, I just don't feel like my plans even begin to compare.”  
  
“What are you talking about?” I shake my head. “All I did was eat breakfast, buy you a book, and let you pet a pony.”  
  
He cringes further, shooting me a look. “Don't, Luke. Don't try to downplay this. You know what all that meant to me—my favorite foods, hand made, my favorite poet when I know you don't care for poetry, and the chance for time alone with a magical creature that fascinates me, has since I was a child ... You went out of your way to cater this experience to me, and my plans feel ... cheap in comparison. I don't—I don't want to do this, let's just forget about it and—”  
  
“Stop, stop, Dom—calm down. Just don't.” My hand is on his shoulder now, gripping, holding him in place. He's tense, blinking rapidly, looking anywhere but at me, and I can't stand it. This isn't what I wanted at all. “Forget everything we said about competitions, alright? That's not what this is. Whatever it is you planned, Dom, whatever it is, you planned it for me. I don't care if it's a Christmas card—”  
  
He snorts, head ducking, and I pause, smiling, breathing easier as I continue.  
  
“You planned this for me. I'm gonna love it. You don't have to out do me. You can't out-care me, and I didn't out-care you. Nothing you do for me could ever seem cheap. Not to me.”  
  
He bites his lip, staring at the ceiling, and is rather breathless when he finally replies, “Goodness. Okay. Alright. I'm sorry, I panicked. Dating ... my, dating is nerve-wracking.”  
  
Meeting my eye for the first time since this started, I can see just what he means. The heat on my neck burns, and my heart races, stomach churns, and I wonder if he feels that, too, and what it might mean if he does.  
  
Darn it, I'm thinking about this too much. Don't get your hopes up, Luke, I tell myself. Don't do it. Don't hurt yourself.  
  
“Yeah,” I agree, just as breathless, trying to shrug it off with a light laugh that barely passes as real. “Believe me, I know—I went first.”  
  
“Whatever.” Dom stares at me, unbelieving, his lip curling up. “You're never nervous about anything.”  
  
I pull back in mock-offense. “You wound me, friend. Am I not human? Am I not just a boy of sixteen? Mustn't I also suffer the maladies that afflict our kind?”  
  
Dom pushes me with one hand, shaking his head. “You're so full of it.”  
  
“Dom, we're on a practice date, partly because I don't have to guts to confess to the guy I like. I think that should be proof enough that, yes, I, too—the great Luke Graves—also gets nervous about things.”  
  
His face freezes, and I raise my brows at him.  
  
“I know, shocking. I mean, what do I have to be nervous about? Perfect as I am.” I shrug, feigning nonchalance, and Dom, being Dom, doesn't buy it for a second.  
  
“I'm sorry. I didn't—I didn't mean it like that, Luke.”  
  
“Of course you didn't, you're the world's sweetest labradoodle, shut up. Like I could ever be mad at you for anything, anyway.”  
  
“You have before.”  
  
“Not seriously. There is almost nothing you could do to make me seriously mad at you, I know you better than that, and I choose my friends better than that. Anything I could get mad at you over would seriously be a friendship breaker, because with anything else, my friendship with you is obviously worth more than that to me. And friendship breaking topics would require lengthy discussions, debates, and negotiations before I'd let you go as a friend. I wouldn't have kept you so close if you weren't worth getting hurt over. So there, no worries.”  
  
I trail off, realizes I'd started to ramble on, letting my thoughts and worries roll off my tongue. Nerves, curse them. Dom is staring. I swallow, then recline against the table, swinging my legs over the bench.  
  
“What?”  
  
Slowly, Dom smiles. “It's nothing. It's—sometimes, I forget how lucky I am to have you as a friend. And that's silly, I really shouldn't, because it's like, almost every day, you do ... something.”  
  
He trails off, still staring, and I can barely breathe.  
  
Someone laughs, and we both seem to be suddenly aware that we aren't, in fact, alone in the Great Hall, and plenty of other conversations are going on around us amongst the many students still finishing their meals. I stand, and Dom almost knocks over his goblet, barely catching it in time, as he tries to do the same. I smirk, and he grins sheepishly, and we head out of the Hall together, strolling casually.  
  
“So.” I prompt him as nonchalantly as possible. “Your turn.”  
  
“Actually ... my plans don't begin until later.”  
  
I glance his way, and he looks at me apologetically, but I only shrug. “That's fine. I'm sure you hadn't thought I'd be practically dragging you out of bed this morning. What shall we do in the meantime? Do you need to study?”  
  
“Honestly? Ah, I probably should. Cursed NEWTs.”  
  
Chuckling, I ask, “To the Library then?”  
  
Dom only sighs, and we head back down to the dungeons for him to get his bag.

* * *

  
  
  
  
We both bury ourselves in homework at our usual table for the rest of the afternoon, but as the day begins to wane and dinner draws close, I remind Dom of our “date.” He only smiles, rubbing the back of his neck, and repeats, “Later.”  
  
“Later” is frustratingly not specific, and we pack to head to dinner with my stomach in knots, wondering what he has planned. Having my own plans first thing had done wonders for not allowing me to get caught up in a fit of nerves, having spent the night before cooking until I collapsed from exhaustion, but this unexpected gap of time before Dom's date has my stomach twisting the longer it stretches on. I can barely make myself eat through the discomfort, and then after the meal ends Dom still only tells me “later” with that cheeky grin and pulls his homework back out.  
  
By eight-thirty, I want to snap my quill in half, having not written a thing in almost an hour. “Dom, it's almost curfew.”  
  
It comes out almost like a whine, and I press my eyes closed, neck heating once again.  
  
“I know.”  
  
“You didn't forget, did you?”  
  
He laughs softly behind his palm. “No, Luke, I didn't forget. But you're right, it's probably about time we go.”  
  
“You think? We won't have any time to do anything together at this rate.” I grumble, shoving my things into my bag.  
  
“Luke Graves, you are having a fit?”  
  
“I'm not.”  
  
Dom looks delighted in his shock. “You are.”  
  
I glower at him, slinging my bag over my shoulder and sauntering off. Dom makes far too much noise in his haste to follow me, but Madame Pince hardly minds, as we're usually so well behaved in her haven. He pulls up beside me in the hall, face bright with his glee.  
  
“You're miffed because you think we won't have time. That's precious, Luke, really.”  
  
“Shut it. I've been looking forward to this all day, and you're driving me up the wall—and enjoying my torment! This is not very Hufflepuff of you at all, Mister Williams.”  
  
“Yes, well, I don't expect much of the rest of the night to be very Hufflepuff of me, either. For all the warnings I gave you about being sappy, I decided on doing something very much, ah, not.”  
  
My interest piques. “Not sappy? Not Hufflepuff? Goodness, Dom, what do you have up your sleeves?”  
  
He's still grinning, bouncing on his heels, and his head darts around, checking for company in the hall. We're alone, and he grabs my arm, tugging us down a corridor that is very much not on the way to either of our dormitories. Mostly, unused classrooms flank us on either side, and Dom stops in front of the one farthest away and, once again scanning the hall, opens it and leads me in.  
  
The room is brimming full of students. From all different houses, all different years—the only thing they all seem to have in common is they are friends of either Dom or I, or both. They are smiling, grinning, lining the walls, as that's pretty much the only free space in the room. The center is taken up by many desks that have all been shoved together into a makeshift platform. A table of food and refreshments runs along the wall beneath the chalkboard, and there's a radio in the corner.  
  
“Finally!” Somebody exclaims, and the room murmurs in general consent. “Is it time to start?”  
  
Dom's hand squeezes mine, and I don't think he's doing it on purpose. He nods.  
  
“Did you all remember the wards and silencing charms?”  
  
“All down the corridor,” someone answers.  
  
“And all the prefects on duty tonight have been sufficiently bribed, distracted, or tricked so that no one out of bed tonight will be noticed.” Somebody else chimes in, and Dom rubs his free hand against his pant leg as he continues to nod.  
  
“Perfect. Excellent. Well then, let's get started!”  
  
Cheers roar to life at this, and someone switches on the radio. Immediately, students begin climbing on the desks, which seems to be stuck together with sticky charms, and start dancing as the dark room is illuminated with strobing lights from the magic of nowhere.  
  
A dance club. At Hogwarts.  
  
My smile is slow, but not from lack of enjoyment. It's wonder. I can barely take it all in. I can barely breathe.  
  
“You did all of this? Organized, put together ...”  
  
Dom nods again, hand still clenched with mine. “Yes.”  
  
I'm stunned, and the silence goes on a bit longer than I know it should, but I can't speak. I can't. Dom licks his lips, his smile faltering, and I force myself to say something.  
  
“ ... I know this song. This is a muggle song.”  
  
“It took some work, but I charmed the radio to play muggle songs.” Dom has turned himself towards me, his search for approval obvious in his face as he speaks. “And, of course, the whole idea of a dance club ... well, I put it together from a bit of research with the muggleborns and the halfbloods who know about these sorts of things ... they said it looked right, does it not look right?”  
  
“It's perfect, Dominic,” I finally tell him, meeting his longing gaze. “I just still can't believe you did all of this. And planning to break curfew ...”  
  
He grins at this, perking up, hand loosening its grip.  
  
“Well, these things are supposed to happen at night, aren't they?”  
  
“You didn't have to break rules for me, Dominic. I know you hate getting into trouble—”  
  
“So I took every precaution not to get caught,” he says simply. I search his face for any sign this bothers him, that he's pushed himself outside his comfort zone, but all I can find there is relief at my approval, excitement, and the desire to please.  
  
“You're sure you're okay with this?”  
  
“I wouldn't have planned it if I wasn't. Honestly,” he leans in closer, lowering his voice but still being loud enough to be heard over the music. “It's kind of a thrill, breaking the rules like this. Exciting.”  
  
He just about giggles, and laughter bursts out of me like a tidal wave. Dom watches me with obvious pride in every inch of his features. He gives my hand a squeeze and nods towards the stage.  
  
“Shall we?”  
  
Tugging, I pull him closer, rising up to press my forehead to his, and grin. “You had best believe I will dance with no one else tonight, Dominic Williams.”  
  
His intake of breath is slow, but sharp, and I feel intensely aware of his closeness, his warmth, his gaze boring into mine, and how agonizingly slow it is as he closes his mouth and swallows, tongue flicking out to wet his lips.  
  
“If that's what you wish. This is your night, Luke Graves.”  
  
I want to kiss him. I imagine he'll taste like dinner and pumpkin juice, and I'm dying to know what else, what's just him. Foolish, foolish thought.  
  
Exhaling, shaking, I spin us both slowly and back away, pulling Dom with me to the dance floor.  
  
I catch a few comments from the uninitiated of the muggle world as we begin to dance about the music, but no one seems to disapprove considering it's a party. The top hits of the last few months continue to blare, and the muggleborns are all buzzing with excitement at knowing the songs when the magic-raised children do not, leading to a rather terrifying outburst of “Who let the dogs out” in the faces of several of the more arrogant of our number. Boy bands play back to back, leading ladies have the room bouncing, and the more punk songs have us all drunk on the energy pumping through the room.  
  
True to my word, I keep Dom on his feet at my side, constantly in motion, and mine alone. It's no surprise to me that he can dance; that he can dance in the particular ways he demonstrates as we move together has my brain pulsing with tiny little electric shocks, pleasure and pain mingled. His body is lithe, his motions fluid, and his hips move with all the flexibility of the serpents that represent my house, and I can barely keep my eyes off him, let alone my hands. Under the flood of the strobing lights, we're far closer together than we should be, and I don't know which of us is doing it, but I'll kiss a kappa before I step away from his body.  
  
Our robes have been all but discarded in a pile by the door, and the buttons on both our shirts have come undone far more than is appropriate. His skin has the lights dancing with us, making the layer of sweat look like a golden glow flecked with his copper freckles. His damp curls bounce around his face, and I run my hand through my own hair to make it lay back out of my face.  
  
At some point, I stop fighting, and my hands are on him, guiding, sliding, and he doesn't seem to notice at all except that he's suddenly touching me, too, and by Merlin himself, nothing has ever been as perfect as the thrum of the bass in my chest and the heat of his body, the scent of his skin, and the feel of him under my palms, the burn of his fingers every second as we move, dance, thrive.  
  
The most recent song trails off, and we both slow, unsteady on our feet without the music to spur us on, and when the next song starts, Dom is shaking his head, grinning. He laughs, breathing hard, and buries his face in my neck. His breath is just as warm as the rest of him, and I grab his shoulders.  
  
“Break time, then?”  
  
“Ho, yes.”  
  
Arms around each other, we stumble through the crowd and hop off the stage. We hit the floor in a tangle of limbs, barely keeping our feet, and are laughing hysterically at ourselves as we make it the rest of the way to the food tables.  
  
Dom throws back a glass of water in one go, almost choking on it, spilling the liquid down his chin, down, down, following the curve of his throat, along his smooth chest, disappearing beneath the practically transparent shirt that clings to his every plane, every muscle.  
  
Picking up my own glass, I lean back and tip it over my forehead, dowsing myself. I can hear Dom laugh, and wipe my face and hair back again before smirking at him.  
  
The next glass I actually drink, and Dom passes me a cauldron cake before tearing open a licorice wand. The sugar feels great in my system. Dinner seems so far away after expending so much energy.  
  
“So how long is this going to go on?” I ask. I'm met with Dom manipulating the stick of licorice to wave at me from his mouth and, in a fit of daring, I dart forward and bite of the end of it, chewing as I step back to admire Dom's shocked face. “Well?”  
  
He sucks in the rest of the candy and I can see he's fighting laughter again.  
  
“We can call it a night whenever you're tired. Arrangements for cleanup have been made. Come morning, no one will ever know we were here.”  
  
My brows shoot up. “You, not cleaning up personally?”  
  
He shrugs, arms slapping against his side rather sloppily. “This date was about you, remember. Thought you might get a kick out of that. And you probably wouldn't let me clean up myself afterward without you, anyway, and I didn't want that. So ...”  
  
“Thought of everything, did you?”  
  
“Not showers, apparently. I knew dancing was sweaty work, but my goodness, I've never worked up a sweat quite like this.” He tugs on the bottom of his shirt, pulling it free from his stomach, and I take a deep, deep breath.  
  
I'm debating with the extremely diabolical part of myself to suggest hitting the Prefects' bathroom for cleanup and hating myself for even thinking it when Dom thankfully takes the situation out of my hands and goes to fish his wand out of his robes. A few cleaning charms, and we're both back up to snuff.  
  
“Ready to hit the floor again?” Dom asks without looking at me as he puts his wand back away.  
  
Debating a moment, I instead pick out my own wand and cast the time-telling spell. “Wow, it's late. Or early. Whichever you prefer.”  
  
Dom checks the sparkling lights that show the time before I cancel the spell, cringing himself. “I hadn't realized we'd been here so long.”  
  
“We both still have homework to finish tomorrow. As much as I hate to say it, we should probably head back.”  
  
Dom's face falls as it always does, with that kicked-puppy look that shatters my resolve at every turn. “Are you certain? I wanted for you to have a carefree night and enjoy yourself ...”  
  
“And that's exactly what I did.” I rest a hand on his shoulder, smiling. “This has been amazing, Dom. I mean that. And now I'm exhausted, and would like to sleep off the best night I've ever had before I collapse on the dance floor. Sound good?”  
  
Reassured, Dom nods, and we pick up our robes and pull them on, heading out the door.  
  
After hours of the pounding music and the roar of dancers and the screams of half-heard conversations, the absolute silence of the corridor is jarring. My ears pop. Dom blinks at me, obviously suffering similar sensations.  
  
“Do you suddenly have a terrible headache?” He asks.  
  
I roll my eyes and nudge him. “Didn't think of everything then, did you?”  
  
He rubs the back of his neck, then stretches it, letting out a low moan. My eyes flutter closed at the sound.  
  
“Right. Loud music for a prolonged period of time. Of course, headaches. What kind of healer am I?”  
  
“My dorm keeps a stash of vials in the common room with cures for common ailments, so I have no doubts there'll be something for this. Do you need one?”  
  
“No, we've got some, too—though, ours are usually for stomach aches more often than not, what with us being so close to the kitchens.”  
  
I smirk, and we walk slowly together towards the staircase. “How Hufflepuff. Stomach aches. Ours are mostly for magic-induced injuries. Too many experiments backfiring in our dorms. I think Ravenclaw has similar problems.”  
  
“And I think Gryffindor has too many straight-up physical injuries from just being Gryffindors.” Dom smiles fondly, and I snort.  
  
“Too right.”  
  
The rest of the trip is comfortably quiet, our shoulders brushing with each step, hands doing much the same. I'm well and truly ready to call it a night, the halls around me in half a haze from my tired, peaceful euphoria. When we reach the ground floor and Dom pauses, though, I slip my hand into his and tug him along. We pass through the Great Hall and make our way down to the Hufflepuff dungeons.  
  
The dimmer lighting is soothing, but the air is warmer here, close to the kitchens, than in the Slytherin dungeons. I look forward to that, and the soft glow of the lake and moonlight through the windows; dreams of tonight—no, all of today—running through my mind for the rest of the year (at least). It's a wonderful thought.  
  
If only this could last forever. If I could have another day like today ...  
  
Too much to hope for, surely. I've already pressed my luck too far. This is my best friend, and unless he makes a move himself, this is the best I get, and it's time to back off again before I mess things up.  
  
I wonder if Dom even realizes the proverbial ball is in his court. Does he know that I feel like I'm standing at the crossroads of Keep Pretending and Truth?  
  
I'm being foolish. Today has been everything I always wanted, and Dom has no idea, and he probably never will unless I buck up and say so. I can't push this on him without even telling him, trying to take the blame for my inaction off of myself.  
  
Oh, does my head ever hurt.  
  
We stop in our usual parting place, halfway down the hall and me with no knowledge of where his dorms are from here. And we stand, silent, in the flickering firelight. Neither of us moves.  
  
“Ah, um ...” Dom bites his lip. “Thank you again, Luke, for this morning. It was wonderful. I mean that.”  
  
I incline my head. “And thank you as well. I can honestly say I never dreamed you could put together something like that, but it was perfect. Very me.”  
  
He's grinning again, that silly, pleased grin like the world's proudest puppy, and claps his hands together. “Then I guess we can both label this date a flying success.”  
  
“Too right,” I agree, throwing my shoulders back. “I'd say we're veritable pros at this dating thing, with how well today went.”  
  
“Oh, definitely.” He nods far too many times in mock agreement, and I smack his shoulder with the back of my hand. I'm too tired for there to be any real force behind it.  
  
“The only thing this date seems to be missing is the traditional send-off for a job well done.” Stepping closer, I bring my face inches away from Dom's, smiling slyly, and my gaze drags deliberately over his lips before locking with his wide eyes. “If this were the real deal, I'd ask to kiss you right now.”  
  
He chokes a bit on his laugh, and clears his throat at the end. “Right. Of course. If this were a real date, yes. That.”  
  
“Hm. What would you say?”  
  
“To what?”  
  
“If this were a real date, and I asked to kiss you. You'll be faced with this situation someday. You'll have to think about it, how you'll answer. If you'd been out, had a great time, and were parting ways, what would you say?”  
  
Flustered Dom won't meet your eye. He'll look away, talk to the walls, the ceiling, stutter and blink too much, lick and bite his lips, put his hands in his pockets and shift his feet, occupy himself a hundred different ways as his brain struggles with whatever embarrassing task he's faced with. Flustered Dom is adorable, panicked but sweet, red in the face. Flustered Dom, I am used to.  
  
This Dom, this shocked, silent, staring Dom, I don't know what to think of. His eyes flicker back and forth between my own, and nowhere else, body unmoving, long, deep breaths ghosting over me as I watch his mind race.  
  
His brow crinkles just a bit, his jaw flexes, and he answers, “I ... think I'd say yes.”  
  
My heart stops. I swear it does.  
  
“It's funny,” he continues. “I didn't think I would be the type to kiss on the first date. I was hoping I'd be a bit more patient than that. Take my time, no rush.”  
  
“I'm the one who asked.” I manage to reply.  
  
“And I didn't ask you to wait or say maybe after a few more dates. I want to say yes. I've never really wanted to kiss anyone before, but ... if this were real, I think I would then.”  
  
Do you now? Why can't this be real?  
  
“What about you?” He prompts. “If I had asked if I could kiss you?”  
  
I cock a brow. “I think the fact that I asked first obviously illustrates I'd say yes. In a heartbeat.”  
  
“And that ... would be your first kiss, too, right? I mean, it would be for me.”  
  
“Yeah.” I admit, willing myself to keep looking at his eyes and only his eyes. He hasn't stepped away, and neither have I, and we are so uncomfortably close in this dark hallway it's almost laughable, except my heart feels like it's going to explode in my chest. “You think that's something we need to practice at, too?”  
  
At his shocked face I quickly clarify with forced humor, “In general, not right now!”  
  
He doesn't look any less startled. “I ... suppose so. I have no idea if I'd be a good kisser or not.”  
  
“Who cares if you're good at it or not—it's you.” I narrow my eyes. “Anyone who gets to kiss you should be honored just on principle.”  
  
Dom's expression melts. “You think far too highly of me.”  
  
“And you don't think of yourself highly enough.”  
  
“You're going to be extremely overprotective of me when I actually do start dating, aren't you?”  
  
My mind slows, then blanks. This is, of course, the last thing I want to think about. I can feel my features smooth out into the best imitation of neutral I'm capable of. “Yes. Because you deserve to be treated right, and to be loved. No worries, though—I'm no threat to someone who'd genuinely treasure you. I promise I won't be a jealous third wheel, or sabotage a good relationship, or pester your s.o.—”  
  
“I know, I know, I'm not worried, I didn't mean it like that!” Dom leans forward, letting his forehead fall onto mine, smiling down at me.  
  
He's so close. So beautiful. He's driving me up the wall. I can't think.  
  
“You really are the best friend anyone could ever have, Luke. Thank you.”  
  
His lips are just right there. Merlin, give me strength. My eyes burn with want, with shame, with hurt and desire and anger and despair.  
  
“I'm really, really not.” The words are low, choked.  
  
Dom pulls back to get a good look at me, face drawn in confusion, and I've already slipped back into a cocky grin.  
  
This has gone too far for my heart to handle. It's time to call it a night, and go back to being friends—and only friends.  
  
“Back on the topic of kissing, I, of course, will be an excellent kisser, because I will be slow and tender and not try anything fancy or get ahead of myself, not to mention I'll hex anyone who tries to say otherwise.”  
  
Dom snorts, shaking his head. He still looks a little worried.  
  
“You know, when you're with someone who loves you, they'll know you better than to think those threats are real.”  
  
That makes me smile. “They'd better. I won't settle for less. Of course, I still expect them to go along with it, though. I have a reputation.”  
  
Slipping his hands into his pockets, Dom leans back, head cocking to the side. “Don't I know it. Do you remember back when we first met and I was still figuring you out? Merlin, I was so confused.”  
  
“You caught on quick enough.” I shift my weight to one leg, trying to relax as much as he has. “You must have found the mystery exciting, or you wouldn't have stuck around to unravel it.”  
  
“Oh, you know us Hufflepuffs—tenacious finders, you see.”  
  
I actually laugh at that, feeling real relief making its way through me, wrapping the heartache in a soft cushion.  
  
His face breaks out into that full-faced, ear to ear grin I know him so well for, and everything is all okay again.  
  
“So, same time next weekend?”  
  
“What?” I ask easily, finally feeling like I'm winding down.  
  
“Our practice date. Again next weekend?”  
  
By Merlin. I don't know if my heart could handle a day like this again. I hadn't thought

this would be more than a one-off thing.  
  
“Are you sure you can afford to waste free time planning another date with your NEWTs coming up? I mean, just once is one thing, but I'd hate for practice-dating to affect your grades.”  
  
“But you're not worried about your own at all, eh?”  
  
“Of course not. I could get by on looks alone, grades are nothing.”  
  
Dom shoves me, but he can't keep from chuckling, and I grin right back.  
  
“Git.”  
  
Angel.  
  
“Prat.” His arm darts out, hand going for my hair, and I duck out of the way, deflecting him, grabbing hold of his wrist and pulling it behind me, tugging his body close again. “Last chance to kiss the best looking Snake in the bunch, Dom. What do you say? How about a good night snog?”  
  
Why do I do this to myself?  
  
“Keep tempting me, and I might actually take you up on that, you know.”  
  
My brows shoot up, and I spit out the very first thing I think of to keep the conversation going and not think about what he just said. “So you admit I'm good looking?”  
  
“I don't think that was ever up for debate!” Dom laughs, and this whole conversation is so surreal, I wonder if I haven't just fallen asleep on my feet.  
  
“Dominic Williams, are you flirting with me?”  
  
“Luke, we went on what amounts to two dates today—I think we're a little past flirting.”  
  
“Are we?”  
  
“What? Are you saying I'm not any good at it?”  
  
“If I say yes, are you gonna practice that on me, too?”  
  
“Do you not want me to?”  
  
“Oh, quite the opposite. Please, flirt away. I really have to see this.”  
  
“You don't think I can do it?”  
  
“You? Flirt? No, I think you'd sooner dissolve in an embarrassed heap and try to disillusion yourself.”  
  
“Oh, really?” Dom smirks—not a look I normally see on his soft, genuine face. His eyes all a glint, and he looks fierce, playful—sexy. It only holds a few seconds, though, before Dom burst out laughing. “Okay, you're right, I couldn't think of a thing to say. I have no idea how to flirt—but I did not melt into an embarrassed puddle!”  
  
“I'll give you that, yeah.” I laugh right back. “You really do need practice, though. Goodness, you seriously couldn't think of anything when I'm this attractive? That's pathetic, mate.”  
  
Dom's head falls to the side, and those puppy-dog eyes are back again, pleading. “I really do need help.”  
  
Rolling my eyes, I fight off a yawn and give his shoulder a slap. “Alright, flirting lessons next week. I'll have you prepared for your eventual lover, no worries.”  
  
“Thank you, Luke. Honestly.”  
  
“Stop that.”  
  
“No, I mean it, come here—”  
  
“Don't—”  
  
“Here—”  
  
His arms wrap around me, and I give up the struggle, letting my arms fall to my sides and feeling him pull me tight to himself, his head dipping down to nestle in my neck. He sighs, relaxing into me, and I know I'm doing the same. My head falls forward onto his shoulder, and I breathe him in.  
  
Prepping him to give him away to someone else. I'm determined to break my own heart, aren't I?  
  
“Thank you.” It's a whisper, low and almost sad, and his tight hold is the only thing keeping me from pulling away to see what's wrong. After a few moments, he continues. “ ... I was scared. Really scared. I'm seventeen and I've never dated. I can't even talk to someone who likes me, and I don't know what it is to like someone else. I had thought, maybe, there was something wrong with me. But I had so much fun today, and I'm beginning to think, maybe I can do this.”  
  
... He sounds close to tears. I hadn't known it was this serious to him. He'd never really mentioned any of this before.  
  
“You should have told me sooner, silly fool,” I tell him softly. “You're you, and there isn't a thing wrong with that, no matter how different that might be. We're all different. And I'm always here for you. Don't sweat it.”  
  
“Thank you.” He repeats. “I don't want to be alone, Luke.”  
  
“You won't be. Not ever. After all, you've got me. The group only gets bigger.”  
  
He chuckles at that, vibrating my skin.  
  
Encouraged, I pat him lightly on the back and say, “Though depending on the nature of this growth, there will be activities for which I will not be around for—unless, of course, you fall for me—and I wouldn't blame you if you did, honestly, how anyone in this castle gets anything done with me walking around being gorgeous, I have no idea, it must be terribly distracting—if that's the case, though, then I most certainly will be around and the group need grow no further—”  
  
Dom has all but fallen off my arm and into the floor, doubled over cackling, he's so tickled, and I can't continue anymore, either, because his laughter is contagious and I cover my mouth, snorting.  
  
“Stop—laughing—at—me!” I smack him on the back several times, trying—and failing—to follow my own advice.  
  
“H-how—” He's still laughing, barely able to speak, but he raises up partway, trying. “How do you always manage to make me laugh?”  
  
I roll my eyes. “Please, Dom, don't insult me. I'm not just a pretty package. I'm brilliant and have a great sense of humor, as well—a true catch. You could do no better, really.”  
  
Dom looks ready to laugh at this, as well, but instead his face falls slightly, and he only stares. I shift my weight again, unease creeping over me, wondering what I said to spur such a thoughtful look. The silence stretches awkwardly for a few beats too many, and I swallow, raising my brows.  
  
“What?”  
  
“It's ... it's nothing.” His smile is a bit off, but he's rallying himself, and I let him. “It's just ... you're great, Luke. Really, really great.”  
  
I'm torn between responding with “of course I am” as usual and giving him an honest—if not confused—“thank you.” Instead, I end up saying, “No reason to sound so shocked. Wait, are just realizing this now?”  
  
I mean it playfully. His reaction is anything but.  
  
“I ... I think I am.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking away, before throwing out his hand. “I mean, I knew it, I did, but ... I don't know, it's strange. It's like I'm discovering you all over again, but I see more now, and it's all different, and—and—ah, I don't know!”  
  
I'm half tempted to ask him if he's falling in love with me, jokingly, but it hurts too much to even think about. Part of me really, seriously, wants to ask though; wants to know. Is he? Did my foolish, childish plan to finally have a date with my best friend actually get him to notice me?  
  
Screw everything. The risk is worth it. Do it. Ask, Luke, ask!  
  
I smirk, but not unkindly, and bite the bullet as confidently as I can manage. “Finally falling in love with me there, Dom?”  
  
He stares at me, startled, and it's all I can do to keep talking.  
  
“If you had, it would be just like you wanted, wouldn't it?” I point out thoughtfully, ignoring the heat in my neck tempting to crawl up my face. “Being friends first, having it happen rather naturally. And like I said, you couldn't do better; I'm amazing, admit it. And I'd treasure you. You know I'd treasure you.”  
  
I give him a pointed look, and watch with a combination of amusement and disbelief as his face flushes deeply, his freckles standing out amid red splotches against his lightly tanned skin.  
  
“A-are—are you being s-serious?” He stutters out.  
  
“Possibly. Are you?”  
  
He just stares, eyes no longer darting, visible panic the only thing I can draw from his face.  
  
I take a deep breath and school my features. My words are even as I tell him, “Say the word, and this goes back to being a joke. If not, tell me otherwise.”  
  
He swallows, and the thrumming in his stretched neck is visible.  
  
“I-I d-dont—I don't k-know, I don't know—” He takes a faltering step back, more like he's losing his balance, and runs both his hands through his curls, sucking his lips inward, looking away again.  
  
“Okay,” I say calmly. “Don't worry about it if you don't want to. Think about it whenever you like, or not at all. I'm always here to talk if you need to. You know that, don't you?”  
  
He nods, staring at the wall, a trembling hand clamped down on his neck. It looks like it's shaking.  
  
Is he scared? I'm scared. What have I done? I screwed up, screwed it all up—  
  
“This goes away if you want it to,” I almost whisper.  
  
He laughs, and chokes, and his eyes press closed and he bends over before raising back up, blinking fast and smiling like he's about to cry.  
  
“If course it does. You always take care of me.”  
  
I can't say anything to that. I don't know what to do to fix this. Merlin, can I fix this?  
  
“What—” He rubs his head again. “What about you, Luke? How do you feel? About all this?”  
  
He tacks that on at the end, and I feel like it's for plausible deniability if we do decide this conversation needs to suddenly be not so serious and possibly talking about something else entirely.  
  
My mouth goes dry. My brain is absolutely silent. Or is there buzzing? Can silence have feeling? It feels heavy. Enclosing.  
  
“Don't ask me that. Please don't ask me that.”  
  
His brows furrow, his hand falling slightly to hover in the air, forgotten. “ ... Luke?”  
  
“I won't lie to you. You know that. Please don't ask me.”  
  
Dom slowly steps closer.  
  
“Because you'll hurt me? Or because ... ” It clicks. I watch it click. “Merlin, Luke, tell me it isn't me. Tell me I didn't—”  
  
He gulps, stricken, and I can't talk. Can't reply. Can't look at him. Just look at him, mercy—  
  
My gaze flickers up to meet his eyes, and I can feel myself deflate, shut down, withdraw, try to hide behind the blank.  
  
He smiles. “It's not me, right? You're just afraid of hurting me, like always. You're always taking care of me, even though I'm the older one ... ”  
  
“That's true.” I respond easily. Something is aching. My heart is steady, the burn is gone, but there's an ache. Where?  
  
He smiles even wider and starts shaking his head over and over. “Don't. Luke, don't.”  
  
I should ask what, but I can't. Why is that?  
  
“For once, don't. Don't protect me. Think of yourself.”  
  
“I always think of myself. I'm an arrogant Slytherin, remember?”  
  
“Stoppit!” His foot slams down and his shoulders stiffen and his face shoots up, every inch of it anger and grief and sorrow and by Merlin do I hate it, I hurt him, I finally did it, Morgana strike me down— “Just stop, Luke! You never think of yourself, ever! Just give me a straight answer, for once! Is it me? Are you in love with me?”  
  
“Yes.” I answer instantly, without thinking.  
  
Make it stop. Make his pain stop. Hurt me all you need, just make it stop. This pain of his is not worth the chance of him loving me, I was wrong, make it stop—  
  
He stares. He's heaving, staring, eyes red and watery, disbelieving, shaking.  
  
The silence stretches. I meet his gaze. What else is there? Just Dominic. Just Dom.  
  
He flexes his jaw like he's going to say something. Instead, he looks like he's gasping, eyes drifting away.  
  
“H-how? How long?” He starts shaking his head again. I wish I could start this day over. I wish I had never proposed this foolish practice date.  
  
“Don't know.” I answer quietly. “Natural as breathing.”  
  
He looks broken. Like I hurt him. Kicked him. Betrayed him. I'm so—  
  
“Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't know, I'm so—” He puts his head in his hands, and there is a true and clear sob this time before he snuffs hard, trying to fight it.  
  
I actually laugh. A quick, loud bark, hand reaching out to touch him, comfort him, do something.  
  
“Fool. You've nothing to be sorry for. Stop that.” My touch is light and soft, unsure, ready to be taken away at the first sign it isn't welcome. “You haven't hurt me, Dom. You've been the best friend ever. How I feel isn't your fault, and it isn't some great tragedy. It's been great. You've been great. Haven't you seen how happy you've made me, just being my friend? Cry if you need to, but none of those waterworks had better be for me, cause I'm peachy.”  
  
“Are you? Really?” He sniffles again, raising up a bit so that our eyes are even.  
  
I sigh, smiling softly, and run the back of my finger under his eye. “I was before all this started. This is kinda my worst nightmare, to be honest. Can't stand to see you like this.”  
  
He tilts his head to the side and mouths 'sorry,' no words escaping how choked up he is.  
  
I pull him into a hug, ignoring everything going on inside of me in favor of giving him what he needs. As usual, he slumps down to nuzzle his eyes beside the tight vein in my neck, relaxing. Natural.  
  
“I didn't want this to happen,” I tell the darkness while I rub Dom's back in large, slow circles. “I really did want to help you. But I admit, I was being selfish, too. Playing pretend. I was a coward for not just asking you out outright, but ... well, this is what I was afraid of, actually. I'm kind of just hoping you'll be able to look me in the face tomorrow and we can forget about this.”  
  
“It all goes away if I want it to,” Dom whispers, repeating my words for before.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“But only on the surface. You remember. I remember. You still feel the same. I'm still just as confused.”  
  
I close my eyes. “Then what else do we do?”  
  
Dom pushes up and away, tottering on his feet momentarily. “Well, we could figure out if I am actually falling in love with you or not.”  
  
I blink. “I was just being a snot, Dom. Don't worry about it.”  
  
“No, but ... ” He shakes his head, frowning. “I'm serious. Things are different. Gosh, my heart is pounding ... ”  
  
Only Dom would say gosh. I smile, pressing a hand to his chest.  
  
“Huh. Look at that.” He's right; it's racing. I grin at him. “Mine's the same. Wanna feel?”  
  
He hesitates for a moment, then slides his fingers beneath the edge of my shirt and presses his palm to my skin. His face flushes all red again, and we both snort.  
  
“This is cliché, isn't it?”  
  
Nodding, I reply, “I'm afraid so. We've walked into a YA novel. Watch out for vampires.”  
  
“You're the mysterious one; you'd be the vampire.”  
  
“I would argue on account of you being the paler one, but you are most certainly the clumsy heroine.”  
  
“Shut it!”  
  
I grin, and he smiles, and after a few moments, he says, “ ... I ... I really could spend every day like this. Us. You do make me happy, and I haven't even thought about my future without you ... ”  
  
“But I could still do that as a friend, Dom. There's nothing wrong with that. I'm not going anywhere just because you might not feel the same. You can love me and not love me like I do you. That's not a crime.”  
  
“I know but ... how do I tell the difference?”  
  
“I'm sorry. I dunno. For me, it's just kinda there. Obvious. It helps that you're fuckin' sexy and I'd kill to kiss you. But you could be romantically attracted to me without being physically attracted. Or it could just be platonic. I'm afraid I can't figure this out for you.”  
  
We stand in silence, hands having slipped away, and I watch Dom casually while he thinks, staring at the dungeon floor. We should have gone to bed a long time ago. Others could come down this hallway at any time—back from the party, wondering why we're here, Prefects on patrol, or teachers. But this seems like an important, defining moment in our relationship, and neither of us can walk away while no resolution has been made.  
  
Dom clears his throat, finally looking up. His eyes meet mine and remain steady, no matter how many times his teeth pick at his bottom lip before he works up the nerve to speak his mind.  
  
“Would it be ... too terribly selfish of me ... t-to ask ... to try ... I want to test a-and see ... Ack.” A hand goes up to grasp his hair and he finishes in a rush: “Is it awful of me to put you through wanting to try kissing you when I already know how you feel and I might not like it, because, I mean, I might—I could—Arg!”  
  
He stomps a foot, and his hand slips down onto his neck, and he bites his lip again, eyes wide and fearful.  
  
I can't believe this is really happening.  
  
“You're adorable when you're frustrated,” I tell him, fighting through frog stuck in my throat. My heart rate has jumped right back up again, pounding away. “Are you really okay with giving me your first kiss?”  
  
He seems relieved I'm not upset at the suggestion, and melts into his shoes. “Yes. Even if we don't—you're my best friend. It's okay, if it's you. I would never regret that. But would you be okay?”  
  
“With getting to kiss the boy I'm in love with? With sharing my first kiss with my best friend? With getting to keep the memory of kissing my first love for the rest of my life? Yeah, I think I'm good. Ecstatic, really. Almost seems unfair to you.”  
  
“No, it's not. Really. I want to try. If I do—I mean, if I am, that is—it would be nice. For it to be you.”  
  
I can't resist a smirk. “Course. What's not to like?”  
  
Dom narrows his eyes and shakes a finger at me. “That. That right there.”  
  
“Oh, don't even pretend you don't enjoy it.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“Make me.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him, and he slaps a hand over his mouth to suppress his giggles. It doesn't work very well, and I only grin wider. “Can't kiss me with a hand in the way, mate.”  
  
“Stop that!”  
  
“Stop what?”  
  
“Don't play innocent!”  
  
“Do you prefer dirty?”  
  
“Merlin, Luke!”  
  
“Merlin? Well, I suppose if that's what you're into—”  
  
Dom grabs me roughly by the shoulders of my shirt and jerks me forward. His mouth presses over mine, too hard, and our teeth hit as both our lips part in “ows!” But there will be no letting that stop me, stop this—this, finally, agonizingly, Founders, I won't let him go.  
  
Our lips keep brushing, searching, trying to find a fit, and then fitting doesn't matter, because I just want to explore every inch of his mouth, know every crease, lick and taste and suck. It's overboard, and nothing like I had planned, but everything is so soft and warm and wet and dry at the same time, and his face is scratchy with the beginnings of facial hair and his breath kind of stinks but I don't care, because he's still holding onto me, and I've grabbed hold of him, and I just want to keep running my lips over his, over and over and over.  
  
He pulls away, gasping, breathless, and mutters, “Shut. Up.”  
  
For once, there are no words, and I just stare into his eyes, breathing hard, ears thrumming with the bass that is my racing heart.  
  
Dom seems rather pleased with himself at this, a coughs a few laughs. “Well, then. H-how was it?”  
  
It's still hard to breathe. Answering is difficult. “Aren't I supposed to be asking you that?”  
  
“J-just ... just wondering ... how I was, is all.”  
  
“Mine.” I seethe, running a hand up his neck and back, into his hair. For those few, amazing moments, he was mine. “Amazing. Everything. I don't even care. You were kissing me.”  
  
I want to pull him down again. And by the way his eyes hood over, he can tell.  
  
“Well, how was it?” I ask him back.  
  
His gaze flickers down. “I liked it.”  
  
“Because you think you like kissing? Or because you think you like kissing me?”  
  
His brow furrows. “ ... I ... I don't like the idea of kissing someone else right now ... but I want to ... kiss you again ... if I can?”  
  
“Slower this time.” I tell him, instinctively trying to mask my excitement despite there being no reason to. “You about gave me a bloody lip with the last one.”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“Hm.” I raise up, pulling his gently closer, initiating. This time is not so frantic, but just as exploratory, just as amazing and exciting and earth-shattering and sensual. I can feel his touch all through me, heated, electric, arousing.  
  
Running my teeth along his bottom lip, I decide to take a nip, and he whines against me, gripping my shirt harder. I really wish his hands were on me instead of the fabric. The hand not occupied with his hair has found his waist, pushing the robes aside, slipping my thumb into a belt loop, pulling his hips closer.  
  
One of those hands finally releases my shirt and move up, thumb running along my neck, fingers in my hair, cupping my face. My eyes flutter open lazily to find him watching, half-lidded, and, mercy, if it isn't the sexiest thing I've ever seen.  
  
We pause, hovering there, and my lips brush against his when I huskily speak. “You should probably go now, Dom.”  
  
He swallows slowly, brushing me as well when his mouth closes. “W-why?”  
  
I press my forehead against his, letting out a deep breath of air. “Because I don't think either of us has enough experience with this to have any self-control whatsoever, and we're alone in the middle of the night in a dark dungeon with plenty of empty rooms.”  
  
“I—oh, wow, um, y-yes, right.”  
  
“Take the night,” I tell him, finally backing away. “Think on what you need to think on. See you at breakfast?”  
  
He nods. “R-right.”  
  
I start to walk away, and slow for a moment, turning back to him just a sliver. One last thing. “And Dominic ... thank you. No matter your decision, today has been—just, thank you. I love you.”  
  
I give him the brightest smile I can manage, and he smiles softly back, a bit torn by the looks of it, but nodding nonetheless.  
  
“You too, Luke. Thank you for today, for ... all of this. For caring. F-for loving me.”  
  
My smile holds a few moments longer, and then I turn and head back up the stairs.

* * *

  
  
  
  
I had expected to be up the rest of what little of the night was left, mind and heart racing, after all of that, but, surprisingly, I find myself out as soon as my head hits the pillow, the rather chilly walk back to my dorm having been rather sobering. Dawn comes too soon, and all my nerves are back, wreaking havoc on my insides as I get up and get ready to head to breakfast.  
  
The moment of truth, so to speak. At least I don't have to worry about an uncomfortable, guilt-ridden, pity-faced Dom not being able to be friends with me anymore. I think we established that, thankfully, wasn't going to happen. Anything else is either just as things were or better, so there's really nothing to worry about.  
  
And yet.  
  
I trudge up the stairs alone, ignoring all my housemates, and head to the Entrance Hall in anxious silence.  
  
Dom is waiting outside the door to the Great Hall, looking just as fidgety and nervous as I feel. I hide it better, though portraits keep commenting on my uncharacteristically terrible posture today.  
  
He lights up when he sees me—both metaphorically and physically. He's red as a tomato, but smiling sheepishly, hands tucked in his pockets and arms in close.  
  
As I approach, he jogs forward and takes my hand, pulling me back into the shadow of the grand staircase, between it and the stairs to the kitchen, where we are mostly out of the way and easily missed by passing students.  
  
Dom rubs my hand between his fingers for a moment before letting go, slipping them right back into his pockets and bouncing nervously on his heels. He's still smiling, though, so all around, it doesn't seem like a bad nervous.  
  
He continues to fidget, and I raise my brows, waiting. With one last hop, he leans forward and kisses me, gently but fully, hand snaking into mine again, as though he just can't resist the contact. The kiss is smooth, lingering, but quick and soft and nothing like last night. It still leaves my heart pounding.  
  
Dom stays in front of me, still grinning, still sheepish, all adorable. “I, um, I've wanted to do that all night.”  
  
“Can't say I didn't want you to.”  
  
He keeps smiling, and now I'm smiling, and we're both just a couple of goofy teenage boys in a dark corner smiling far too widely, holding hands.  
  
This is good. Better than good. I don't know how this could be any more perfect.  
  
“Can we date? I mean, really date?”  
  
Mercy. I was wrong. Perfect got better.  
  
“Are you certain?”  
  
“Yes.” There isn't a bit of hesitation. He's still smiling, watching me. This is really happening.  
  
For once, it's my turn to press my face into the crook of his neck and sigh. When the skin there starts to grow warm, I smirk and run my nose and lips up his neck to his jaw, eliciting a shiver.  
  
“S-stop that.”  
  
“Not on your life, babe.”  
  
He chokes, and I snicker.  
  
“So I'm 'babe' now?”  
  
“Got a problem with that?” I respond, muffled from my continued presence nestled against him.  
  
“Not really, no.”  
  
“Good.” I don't move. Neither does he. I could stay like this forever, and that's not just an expression. I'm so happy. So peaceful.  
  
“Luke?”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“Is this a yes?”  
  
“No Dom, I totally don't want to date the guy I've been in love with for almost two years and just called 'babe.' Where on earth would you get that idea?”  
  
He shoves me off and I stumble back, laughing. A few passing Hufflepuffs coming up from the dungeons startle, not having noticed us at first. It just makes me laugh harder, and Dom go even redder.  
  
I march up and shove him right back, and he bounces against the wall. I pin him there, no room between our bodies, and lean up, stretching to kiss him, licking his lip quickly before pressing our mouths together to muffle his yelp. It slips into a moan by the time I'm done with him.  
  
“Yes, Dom,” I murmur, watching his eyes flutter almost to the back of his head. Oh, this is going to be fun. “We can date. I want to date you. I also want to parade you around the Great Hall and tell everyone you're officially unavailable. How does that sound to you?”  
  
I give him another peck. And another.  
  
“Mmmmm,” is his only reply, gravitating closer to my lips.  
  
Somewhere behind us, there's laughter, and someone whistles. Good. Go spread rumors. Tell everyone. Dominic Williams is dating Luke Graves.  
  
That sounds so good in my head. Such good news. Everyone should know, shouldn't they?  
  
“No, no—no more, stop that—stop.” All Dom has to do is lay his head back and he's out of my reach, so I step down as he gathers himself. “I'm not dating you just for the, the—the kissing, you know.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“No, Luke, no, that's—” He swallows. “I spent all night thinking about this, Luke. About ... you. Us. And ... and I care about you so, so much. So much. And this feels—more than good. Right. It feels right.”  
  
I shake my head, grinning so hard it hurts. “You know, you don't have to figure this all out in one night. Just because I already know I love you doesn't mean you have to know right now if you feel the same. Right is good. Better than good. Enjoy it. Let me know when things get sorted, and don't worry about it otherwise. We have time, Dom. And we're teenagers, my goodness. We're just dating, not getting married.”  
  
Dom looks at me funny, lip picking up in the corner in half a smile.  
  
“What?” I ask.  
  
“You do that a lot.”  
  
“Do what?”  
  
“Ramble, trying to reassure me. It's rather cute.” He chuckles, and I can feel myself flushing.  
  
“Well, excuse me for trying to keep you from worrying too much. And you would, you know. You worry about everything.”  
  
“So you keep telling me.” He's smiling brightly, and I'm not certain why exactly until he finishes. “But not you. The only thing you worry about is me.”  
  
“In love with you.” I deadpan, pointing to myself.  
  
He grins even wider, reddening again. “I like hearing you say that.”  
  
I shrug. “I like saying it. Living it.”  
  
“Luke.” I meet his gaze, soft and serious, and he says, “I don't know if I'm there yet, for certain, but I do know that ... I am falling in love with you.”  
  
And there's nothing I can say to that. It's stopped my breathing, stopped my heart, stopped all sound around me and all sight but his face, and everything is perfect and painful and sweet and I can't move, can't speak, Dominic Dominic Dominic—  
  
I bite my lip, look away, blink over and over again because it burns, and then Dom's hand is on my chin, pulling my face up, staring, and Merlin if he isn't the most beautiful thing, watching me like I'm the one that's stunned him, that's amazing, and he pulls me into a hug, holding me against his chest, face in my hair, and his hands rub comforting circles on my back as he kisses me along my part, and I finally let out a shuddering breath, inhaling deeply.  
  
He chuckles. I feel it all through me, a fluttering rumble.  
  
“Finally broke that composure of yours, huh?”  
  
“Shut up.”


End file.
